The legend of Flaming Nell was accepted fact in these parts. Nearly two centuries ago Lady Eleanor Stanhope had been cursed for stealing a Gypsy woman’s lover and doomed to lure innocent men to their deaths. And Brynn, as one of her descendants, was believed to be burdened with the same affliction.
Despite the Gypsy curse and the tragedy in her own past, however, she wasn’t quite an outcast with her neighbors. The women welcomed her company, even liked her for the most part. But she was considered a danger to their sons. They kept their menfolk far away from her, especially those of marriageable age.
After making the requisite small talk, Brynn let the ladies’ conversation wash over her as she puzzled out her unusual reaction to Lord Wycliff.
His crystalline blue eyes were just as compelling, his seductive half smile just as devastating as during their first
encounter, yet that didn’t excuse her behavior. She was still ashamed of the way her body had betrayed her that day in the cove, could still recall the hot, trembling sensations that had rushed through her at his erotic caresses.
What on earth had come over her? No man had ever affected her that way. She had once experienced a girlish infatuation-to her profound regret and sorrow-but never had she even come close to losing control or surrendering to a man’s caresses. With Lord Wycliff she had acted a perfect wanton…
But by all accounts Wycliff was a practiced rake who made seduction a sport. She had never been able to afford a London Season, but the duke’s granddaughter, Lady Meredith, was her closest friend. Meredith was now a viscountess and lived primarily in London, and her frequent letters were filled with lively on dits about the ton, describing in titillating detail exploits of the wicked rakes and dangerous adventurers who made up the infamous Hellfire League. And Lucian Tremayne, Earl of Wycliff, was one of its chief founders.
Notorious for his scandalous conquests in the bedroom, he had cut a dazzling swath through society for years. Brynn could well believe the tales about him. Reportedly he had the power to make strong women weak-and she was living proof.
Her fascination with Wycliff was incomprehensible. She had little respect for such noblemen-rich, idle, shallow, not to mention arrogant and infuriatingly puffed up by their own self-consequence.
Her current companions, however, did not hold the same aversion, apparently.
“Ah, if I were only twenty years younger,” the widowed Mrs. Prescott murmured beside her.
“Twenty years still would not do you a bit of good, Honoria,” her friend, Mrs. Stobly, remarked with a cattish smile. “Gentlemen like that can have their pick of rich beauties, and you fit neither bill, I’m sorry to say.”
“I don’t believe you are sorry in the least, Alice.”
Following their gaze, Brynn felt herself frown as she watched the earl lead out the aging Duchess of Hennessy for a minuet. Wycliff cut a striking figure on the dance floor, lithe, elegant, yet with the supple, muscular build of a sportsman. He had captured every female eye in the ballroom, including hers.
With a murmur of disgust, Brynn tore her gaze away. She had more admirable concerns than watching a legendary rake conquer feminine hearts.
Lamentably, though, she caught the eye of a young dandy in the crowd, the local squire’s son who had fallen victim to her allure some months before.
Alarmed to see Mr. Ridding making a direct bee-line for her, Brynn rose quickly to her feet. Yet before she could escape, he hastened to intercept her, bowing before her with a breathless grin.
“Miss Caldwell, I hoped… no, I prayed you might come. I beg you to honor me with the next set of dances.”
When he reached for her hand, Brynn pulled away anxiously, determined to dissuade his pursuit of her. “Mr. Ridding, you know that is unadvised.”
“I dreamed of you last night, did you know? You were not so averse to me in my dream-”
Just then his mama came rushing up to rescue him. “Orlan, come away from that young lady at once!”
“Mama, I was only requesting a dance-”
“I won’t allow it. You know very well the danger.”
Mrs. Ridding tugged insistently on her son’s sleeve to draw him away, much to Brynn’s relief. And yet she felt her cheeks flush with humiliation and pain as she sensed the accusing eyes of the dowagers. They blamed her for the untimely, tragic death of her one-time suitor so many years ago. She couldn’t fault them for their condemnation, since she couldn’t forgive herself.
Choosing to retreat rather than prolong the distressing moment, Brynn offered a forced smile and made her way through the swelling crowd and out of the ballroom, searching for the library. Perhaps she could make good use of her time until her brother was ready to leave.
Upon exploring the shelves, she was somewhat heartened to find a copy of Beckford’s Latin Primer. Next week she was supposed to quiz Theo on the conjugation of verbs, and she still had a great deal of preparation to do; she had to keep at least two lessons ahead of her sharp-witted youngest brother if she had any hope of maintaining his respect for her as his tutor.
As a girl her own education had been typical for a young lady-French, Italian, the use of globes, basic sums. Latin and Greek, history, and higher maths were considered the province of masculine minds, and she’d had to scramble to educate herself in those subjects after her family was forced to let their longtime governess go because of the pitiful state of their finances.
Brynn had settled comfortably on the settee and was deep in concentration when an intimate male voice sounded behind her.
“So this is where you’ve hidden yourself.”
Giving a violent start of surprise, Brynn straightened and cast a wary glance over her shoulder. “You do have the most vexing habit of startling me, my lord.”